


"We had a good run, and now it’s over; what’s wrong with that?"

by HamAndSwiss



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A cat - Freeform, Fantastic, Funeral, M/M, Multi, Past Character Death, Poor Aaron Burr, Sadness, Tags Are Hard, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, and this is literally the end, annoying pastor, burial, dunno, have fun, honestly, i have a whole aaron/thomas/james collection of stories, much sadness, so like, someone just hug him, that one poem, the cat is named max, took me too long to find gravestone quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamAndSwiss/pseuds/HamAndSwiss
Summary: "The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." ~Gilbert K. Chesterton





	"We had a good run, and now it’s over; what’s wrong with that?"

**Author's Note:**

> So... let's see. Thomas was a middle school French teacher, James was a middle school social studies teacher, and Lauren was a 6th grader. Aaron's a lawyer, not like it matters to the plot.  
> The title's a quote from 'The Art Of Racing In The Rain' which is an... interesting book. I'm not good with titles. So sue me.

_From Jem {10:33 AM}: Aaron, I love you and Thomas and Lauren so much._

_To Jem {10:33 AM}: hah okie love ya too jemmy_

_To Jem {10:36 AM}: James?_

_To Jem {10:36 AM}: tommy texted me and told me what’s happening_

_To Jem {10:37 AM}: James?_

_To Jem {10:37 AM}: JAMES?!?_

_From Tommy {10:34 AM}: aaron listen closely_

_From Tommy {10:34 AM}: theres a guy with a gun in here_

_From Tommy {10:35 AM}: im in my room, ive got lauren in here. jems classroom is a few doors down i don’t know how he is. were on lockdown code blue the police have been called. my room is secureish_

_To Tommy {10:36 AM}: oh my god_

_From Tommy {10:36 AM}: i know_

_To Tommy {10:37 AM}: jem’s not responding to my texts…_

_From Tommy {10:37 AM}: aaron i love you so, so, so much. james too. all of you._

_To Tommy {10:38 AM}: THOMAS_

_To Tommy {10:39 AM}: THOMAS ANSWER ME YOU IDIOT_

_To Tommy {10:40 AM}: NO_

Up at the front of the church lies Aaron’s whole life. The three people he loves most in the world, lying in their cold coffins, never to smile at him again. James and Thomas, his wonderful husbands who were always by his side. Lauren, their daughter, who was only eleven and didn’t deserve any of this.

The police said that his husbands died selfless. They said that James barricaded the door and hid students under tables where they couldn’t be seen. They said that Thomas threw anything he could find at the gunman when said man entered his classroom. They said that Aaron should be proud, that his husbands’ actions saved the lives of countless students. They said that the gunman has been caught, and Aaron just wants to see that man burn, because he took away the most precious things in Aaron’s life.

Now they’re lying in their caskets, and the priest is droning on, and everyone is looking at Aaron with pity, and he just wants to sink into the floor and let God take him as well.

“And now we shall have… Aaron… Madison? yes, Aaron Madison, come up to give a few words.” Everyone is now staring at Aaron, wondering what he’s going to do. So he stands up and makes himself walk to the podium, not looking at the bodies lying in the coffins as he goes.

“Hello… hello everyone,” he says softly as he leans into the microphone. “I suppose I’m expected to give a eulogy or whatever.” Here he takes a deep breath. “But how do I sum up the lives of three extraordinary people, giving all credit where credit is due? How do I compress the years into minutes, doing justice to every moment? Even Lauren’s life, the shortest, is too complicated to simply be given a smattering of words to encompass it all. There is no way I can show you every single one of the precious memories in the few minutes I’m given. There’s no way I can show you, in these fleeting moments I have left to speak, the way that James’ forehead wrinkled when he was grading papers or the smell of Thomas’ French cooking or Lauren’s absolute enthusiasm for anything science. I can’t make you hear their laughs or feel their hugs or see our living room on those Saturday mornings, scrambled eggs on plates and cartoons on the TV and James usually asleep leaning against my shoulder.”

Aaron looks up and makes eye contact with the gathered congregation. “I can’t make you feel all the emotions that I felt when I had my first date Thomas and James at that little café by the English building. I can’t make you see the shine in James’ eyes when he walked down the aisle to Thomas and I. I can’t make you hear the frenzy as we cleaned the house to prepare for Lauren’s arrival. I can’t make you know just how much these three people changed my life, in so many different ways. Even if I had forever to stand here and talk, it would never be enough to make you believe, make you understand, just how much I love them, and just how many memories we shared. Thank you.”

With that, Aaron walks down off the podium, fully intending to return to his seat. Instead, he is glued in place as he glances at the caskets. There’s James, glasses securely on his nose, favorite blue sweater and khakis. Aaron can almost see him on that first day of sophomore year, face in a book in their shared Philosophy class, when Aaron noticed him for the first time.

Next is Thomas. He’s got his dark trench jacket, the one he always joked about looking like a private investigator in, and his hair looks strangely under control, something he never achieved during life. Aaron can almost hear his laugh and see his trademark smirk when James was flustered on their first official date and Thomas had to reassure him that his being awkward was understandable.

Last but not least, is Lauren. Her small casket has dark green fabric inside, which she would have appreciated. She’s wearing a bright yellow skirt, with a navy blouse, and her hair is pulled back in a tight braid. Aaron can almost remember the night she came to them, two years old and shaking with fear, clad in that precious little denim jacket the social worker said was the only thing she had left of her own after the fire that killed her parents.

He takes a deep breath, silently willing the tears now pricking his eyes to return into his tear ducts. Now is not the time for this. He can only cry at home, in the privacy of the bedroom he used to share with the lights of his life. Here, in front of all these people he barely knows for the most part, this is not the place to have a breakdown. Instead, he bites his lip, hard, and walks back to his pew with his head held high.

More people talk. Some of the other teachers from the middle school. One of James’ students, an eighth-grade boy with messy blond hair and a soft-spoken voice but powerful words. A couple of Lauren’s friends, who all say pretty much the same stuff, _she was nice_ , _she was funny_ , _she liked sports_ , stuff like that. James’ younger brother, who’s seventeen now, says something too, but it’s not memorable.

The priest stands up again, announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, there will be light refreshments in the hall, where you may offer your condolences to the family. Following that, there will be a burial service at the cemetery, which is open to anyone.” And just like that, the easiest part of this whole thing is over. Now Aaron will have to fake a smile and nod when everyone tells him their stories of who _they_ lost, and pretend like he’s not breaking inside. After that, then, he’ll have to watch as the caskets are buried, and those he loves are consigned to oblivion deep underground.

In the entrance hall, more like entrance _hell_ , Aaron is swarmed as soon as he steps foot in the place. Same stuff from every mouth. _We’re so sorry_ , _you’ll get over it eventually_ , _did I ever tell you about my grandma who passed away_ , _are you okay_? No. He’s not okay. He’s never going to get over it. How could he?

Finally, that blond boy, the one who talked about James and who seemed nice enough, walks up to Aaron. “Hello sir,” he says politely, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Aaron shakes the boy’s hand, because at the least this’ll be a change of pace from all the mopey adults. “My name is William, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish our meeting had been under better conditions,” the boy adds, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor. “Well… uh… I’m not going to give you that BS about the pain lessening or whatever, because I know from far too much experience that it never does. I’m not going to tell you to get over it, because everyone’s grief manifests at different times and different forms.”

That makes Aaron smile, a real smile but still sad. William nods, mostly to himself, before continuing. “Um… I had Mr. Thomas as my teacher in 6th grade. He was… you could tell he was passionate about his subject, and he really helped my French comprehension so much. And… uh… I… I h-had Mr. James this year… social studies, y’know… he was a fabulous teacher too a-and… um… you’ve probably heard this already and I’m sorry but h-he was so brave… on that day… he just… we were all so terrified… he was… he was calm and he told us all what to do and he said we’d be alright a-and…”

William trails off, and tears well up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Aaron can’t say anything. This boy… this boy was there. This boy lived through the shooting, seeing who knows what, seeing… seeing James and who knows who else get shot down in front of him. “It’s… um… my friend… t-too…” William whispers. “His name w-was Ben and he liked _Star Wars_ and _Lord of the Rings_. He… the man s-shot him point-blank in the face…”

That settles it. Aaron carefully hugs William, pulling the boy close and wishing he knew the words to say. Wishing _someone_ knew at least. Wishing there was a cure to grief. “Th-thank you…” William finally mutters after a couple moments. “It’s… I k-know it’s nothing close to what you’ve lost… but… still… I guess.”

Aaron pats William’s back before finally releasing him, squeezing out what he hopes is a comforting-enough smile. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry about Ben. I’m so sorry that the world has horrible people who like to hurt others.” William smiles slightly back, wiping at his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

With that, he strides off. Aaron has a few more people to deal with, then he’s on his way to the cemetery where the caskets will be consigned to oblivion.

There’s a whole collection of people there. Not as many as there were at the service, but still far too many. When Aaron arrives, the pastor gives a quick nod before beginning. “This burial is intended to be brief, so I shall simply ask Mr. Aaron Madison to come forward, say a few things, and then I shall say a quick prayer.”

Yet again, all eyes are on Aaron. He’s really not digging this whole thing. At the front, at the podium, he clears his throat and tries to make eye contact again. “I guess… I guess I’ve just got a poem this time,” he squeaks out. “Uh, it’s… it’s _Funeral Blues_ by… uh… W. H. Auden.”

In the audience, Aaron sees William give him a shaky smile. “So… um… here goes nothin’,” Aaron begins. “Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, scribbling on the sky the message They Are Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. They were my North, my South, my East and West, my working week and my Sunday rest, my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; for nothing now can ever come to any good.”

After he finishes, there’s a moment of silence, as everyone bows their heads and can’t meet the eyes of the grieving man in front of them. Then the silence is broken by a vicious clearing of the throat by the pastor, and Aaron slowly moves to the side.

Predictably, the pastor reads some cheesy prayer, and then the mourners can start to leave. Most, or maybe all, do. No one wants to stay around and watch Aaron stare as the coffins are lowered into the ground. No one wants to watch him cry. They have their own lives to get on to, with families who are still alive, and they won’t spare him even the slightest thought after this.

Once the coffins are covered in fresh dirt, even the workers leave. Aaron stands there for what seems like years, as the seasons change and plants grow and stars twirl overhead, until a hand rests on his shoulder.

“Um… sir…?” a soft voice says gently. Aaron turns around and nods politely at William, the sole remaining person besides himself. He’d really like to say something, but no words come up. Luckily, William seems to understand, and he nods back. “Well… uh… my mom’s in the car, probably really mad at me for making her come in the first place, but… uh… I just want to say, one more time, that I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Aaron shakes the boy’s proffered hand, and watches as he walks off to a minivan, blond head slowly getting further away. There goes the last human being. Now it’s Aaron, who is broken, the bodies underground, who are sleeping that eternal sleep, and the wind in the air, nipping at everything like it’s angry too. You can feel the sadness and the pain and the absolute embodiment of everything that death is. Its stench is in the very air.

He goes home when the sun touches down on the horizon, golden rays lighting the air. The house is too big and silent; the way it’s been for far too long now. Alone in the kitchen, he digs through the cabinets and pours himself a bowl of Rice Chex. Max, that accursed grey cat that James convinced them to adopt, comes into the kitchen, purring softly as he does. Aaron sighs heavily, before opening the cabinet back up and pulling out the tin of cat food. “Here you go, Maxwell,” he says, plopping it into the food bowl. “Eat up.”

The two lonely creatures tuck into bed not to soon afterwards, Aaron hugging pillows close to himself, pillows that will never be a substitute for his husbands, and Max curls up on Aaron’s head, since James isn’t there to be the proper bed.

It’s an intensely lonely sleep.

~~~

Next to the almost brand-new headstones, Aaron kneels down, placing exactly five flowers at each stone. Roses for Thomas, who was a hopeless romantic, daffodils with the stamen plucked out for James, who was horridly allergic to pollen, and daisies for Lauren, who could spend her whole day plucking wildflowers.

Aaron reads the engravings on the stones, wondering, yet again, if he picked the right thing. He’s memorized what is written, and he knows that his family members would love anything, but he still can’t help but worry that he chose the wrong words to be their last legacy to the world.

_James Jefferson_

_March 16 th, 1981 to January 25th, 2019_

_His soul had done what it came to do, learned what it came to learn, and then was free to leave._

_Thomas Burr_

_April 13 th, 1980 to January 25th, 2019_

_So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings._

_Lauren Nocciola_

_October 3 rd, 2007 to January 25th, 2019_

_‘Til then, Sleeping Beauty, sleep on._

Good enough.

“So… Thomas, let’s see… the Captain Marvel movie came out… I’ve heard good things about it. I think you’d like it,” Aaron muses, rubbing his chin and leaning up against one of the stones. He’s not sure which one, but it doesn’t really matter. “Oh, and James, darling, at the bookstore I saw this history book about African-American soldiers in wars, all the way from the Revolutionary War to modern day. That’s just right up your alley, huh?”

He goes on like that for maybe an hour, telling Lauren about how college basketball teams are doing and giving his husbands a play-by-play of how politics is going and asking so many questions that he will never hear the answers to, at least not on this side of the veil.

Finally, the sky is dimming, and Aaron starts the walk back to his car that he’s followed at least a good hundred times over the past several months, waving one last goodbye to the headstones.

“Goodnight lovelies. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


End file.
